than as if he had been an ant, a blue-bottle fly, or a black beetle! He looked, and sighed--sighed, and looked--looked, and sighed again, in a kind of agony of vain longing. While his only day in the week for breathing fresh air, and appearing like a gentleman in the world, was rapidly drawing to a close, and he was beginning to think of returning to the dog-hole he had crawled out of in the morning, and to the shop for the rest of the week; the great, and gay, and happy folk he was looking at, were thinking of driving home to dress for their grand dinners, and to lay out every kind of fine amusement for the ensuing week: and that, moreover, was the sort of life they led every day in the week! He heaved a profound sigh. At that moment a superb cab, with a gentleman in it dressed in great elegance, and with very keen dark eyes, and striking nose and whiskers, came up with a cab of still more exquisite structure and appointments, and at which Titmouse gazed with unutterable feelings of envy--in which sat a young man, evidently of consequence; very handsome, with splendid mustaches; perfectly well-dressed; holding the reins and whip gracefully in hands glistening in straw-colored kid gloves--and between the two gentlemen ensued the following low-toned colloquy, which it were to be wished that every such sighing simpleton (as Titmouse must, I fear, by this time appear to the reader) could have overheard. "Ah, Fitz!" said the former-mentioned gentleman to the latter, who suddenly reddened when he perceived who had addressed him. The manner of the speaker was execrably familiar and presumptuous--but how could the embarrassed _swell_ help himself?--"When did you return to town?" "Last night only"---- "Enjoyed yourself, I hope?" "Pretty well--but--I--suppose you"---- "Sorry for it," interrupted the first speaker in a lower tone, perceiving the vexation of his companion; "but can't help it, you know." "When?" "To-morrow at nine. Monstrous sorry for it--'pon my soul, you really must look sharp, Fitz, or the thing won't go on much longer." "Must it be, really?" inquired the other, biting his lips--at that moment kissing his hand to a very beautiful girl, who slowly passed him in a coroneted chariot--"must it really be, Joe?" he repeated, turning towards his companion a pale and bitterly chagrined countenance. "Poz, 'pon my life. Cage clean, however, and not very full--just at present"---- "Would not _Wednesday_!"--inquired the other, leaning forward towards the former speaker's cab, and whispering with an air of intense earnestness. "The fact is, I've engagements at C----'s on Monday and Tuesday nights with one or two country cousins, and I _may_ be in a condition--eh? you understand?" His companion shook his head distrustfully. "Upon my word and honor as a gentleman, it's the fact!" said the other, in a low vehement tone.